


a lovely sight

by Anonymous



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Breeding, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Gender or Sex Swap, Glove Kink, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Touching, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Shameless Smut, Size Kink, Thinly Veiled Excuse to Write Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26052121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Sephiroth’s hands ghost over the curve of his ass, the swell of his thighs. The touches seem almost gentle, almost reverent. He isn’t sure how to feel about it. Cloud could handle menacing or forceful. He’d expected it, actually. Sephiroth feels no qualms about taking anything he thinks is his due. And he knows the bastard thinks anything that belongs to Cloud belongs to him de jure. This…faux-affection does not sit well with Cloud.
Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Comments: 12
Kudos: 275
Collections: anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

Procreation seems to be the concept his life ultimately circles around.

After all, he grew up deep within Hojo’s labs. Many of Hojo’s projects centered on fetal specimens, and the man preferred to study in vivo whenever possible. Sephiroth was never directly involved in these experiments as a child. Regardless, he had dutifully studied the reproductive biology textbooks he was given and he understood that when he reached sexual maturity he would be required to provide samples for one project or another.

And then _Mother_. She has always been concerned with procreation — she loved her children, after all, and always desired more. But her methods of reproduction had never been as messy as that of mortals. Replicating J-cells seemed to be the easiest, the one that came most naturally to her. And it did feel good. She had attempted fragmentation of Sephiroth’s own self once — and it worked, to an extent, but it had not been what she wanted. Not what they needed.

But Mother has grown quiet. And Sephiroth isn’t sure why exactly she no longer whispers to him. However, he thinks he knows how to fix it.

New, fresh J-cells. _More_ and _different_ and most importantly _natural_. He was not looking to create anything reminiscent of Hojo’s slimy, mutated monstrosities. Unfortunately… this endeavor could not be wholly unpolluted by Hojo. Sephiroth himself had traces of the man’s meddling. And he can think of only one other who might survive the process.

He may have to alter his puppet’s behavior (he’d certainly have to alter his physiology) but it would be worth it in the end.

* * *

With the roar of the engine beneath him and the desert speeding by around him, all Cloud can feel is relief. Relief that this delivery is done and relief in the open road. He is heading back to Edge, to Seventh Heaven, a place which _finally_ feels like home. Being on the road isn’t bad, but right now he’d kill for a hot shower and a welcome-back hug from the kids and maybe a fresh loaf of Tifa’s homemade bread.

It’s only a couple hours away on bike. He speeds through the sand, careening past any monsters stupid enough to draw near him. They’re not worth the effort of unsheathing his sword, much easier and faster to just drive by. And then he sees a black splotch on the horizon, in the middle of the road, and as he drives closer and closer, he feels a fog trying to creep over his brain.

Ah, fuck. Standing there, looking like he’d come straight out of Cloud’s nightmares —

The brakes squeal as Cloud pulls Fenrir to a dead stop, mere feet from the man himself.

Sephiroth’s eyes seem to dance with delight at seeing his killer. “Hello, Cloud. It’s been too long.”

“Not long enough,” Cloud says, wearily. He’s getting too old for this shit and he’s not even close to thirty. His hand twitches on First Tsurugi’s grip, ready to draw it at the slightest movement from Sephiroth. “Why don’t you do us both a favor and _stay dead_?”

Sephiroth tilts his head, looking so smug. “I am not here to fight today, Cloud.”

“I don’t care what you’re here for,” Cloud replies. “You’re going to die today.”

And then he darts forward, drawing his sword with one fluid motion.

Their swords meet with a clang as the Masamune glimmers into being from whatever pocket dimension Sephiroth stores it in. Sephiroth — for whatever reason — claims he does not want to fight, but that does not mean he is holding back. The Masamune practically sings as she cuts through the air.

Each thrust is met by a parry, each parry is riposted as they move at triple the speed an unenhanced human ever could. They are not equals in much else — not in size or strength — but in a sword fight Cloud knows he can take Sephiroth. He strikes again, bringing down the full weight of Tsurugi against the Masamune. When Sephiroth blocks, Cloud uses the force to spring back, taking to the air and driving back down on him once again.

He has no idea how long they are fighting for. They are evenly matched for the longest time, Cloud fighting like a man unhinged to gain the upper hand against him. And it works. Until it doesn’t, as their swords meet once again in a cross.

Then the Masamune twists sharply — his grip weakens — and Tsurugi flies out of his grasp, clattering along the ground as it spins out. Cloud tenses; he knows what happens next. He’ll be stuck through by the Masamune; _human shish kabob_ , he thinks dryly. But that doesn’t happen. Sephiroth strikes him with the flat of Masamune instead.

The air rushes out of him. Fuck, that’ll bruise. But better than the alternative; it’s nowhere near the piercing-hot pain of being impaled on Sephiroth’s giant sword.

Still, he hasn’t been knocked back too much, and he’s still on his feet. Small victories. Raising his fists — widening his stance — trying to remember the footwork Tifa had taught him long ago — he can still take Sephiroth, sword or no sword.

But the Masamune disappears, shimmering away into a shadow.

He’s never fought Sephiroth hand to hand before. And why is the bastard giving up the advantage of an unarmed opponent? The realization hits him: he’s probably so sure he can beat Cloud that he doesn’t _want_ the advantage. Fucking arrogant.

He’s so caught up in these thoughts that he doesn’t notice — until it’s too late — the green light that washes over him.

 _Materia_.

That was definitely not Sephiroth’s usual style. What was the asshole planning?

He looks down, not sure what exactly the materia had been meant to do. The green and the warmth of it all had almost felt the same as a Transform.

He takes a step, stops, and reevaluates. Notices something _missing_ between his legs.

“Sephiroth,” he near growls, falling back into a good stance for hand-to-hand. “What did you just do?”

“Ah, so _now_ you are interested in speaking with me,” Sephiroth says.

“I don’t want to play your games,” Cloud warns. “Tell me what you did.”

“This is hardly a game. I take this very seriously.”

Cloud resists the urge to tear his hair out. “Tell me what you did,” he repeats, firm.

“As I said earlier — I am not here to fight,” Sephiroth says. “I have other plans for today.”

“What is it this time,” Cloud demands, frustration and sarcasm slipping in to his tone, “if it’s not _‘sailing the cosmos with the Planet as your vessel’_ or _‘destroying everything I hold dear’_?”

“Procreation,” Sephiroth says.

Cloud pauses. “Procreation,” he repeats, slowly, hoping that he’s misheard or misunderstood.

“Yes,” Sephiroth says.

“As in reproduction.”

“Exactly. I’m glad you understand.”

“You want to… get me pregnant,” Cloud states, still hopelessly baffled by this entire situation.

“I intend to, yes.”

“Every time I start thinking that I understand all the ways you’re fucked up, you surprise me,” Cloud says flatly. “That’s not happening. That’s not even _possible._ ”

“Oh, but it is.”

Sephiroth advances in one fluid motion.

Cloud is prepared to grapple with him, and for a few moments he does so successfully. Cloud blocks or else evades Sephiroth each time the man strikes at him, desperate to keep some distance between them. He even manages a few glancing blows himself. He’s not totally helpless at hand-to-hand… just _mostly_.

His skill (and his luck, honestly) runs out eventually. Sephiroth catches his wrist in one hand; his fingers wrap completely around. Cloud thrashes with all his strength, draws up his other hand to strike at the bastard but —

Sephiroth is already casting again, fast and powerful and this time with a materia unlike anything else Cloud has ever seen.

Fuck.

Cloud stares at the purple magic that now binds both of his wrists, drawing them together in an unbreakable hold. He’s the strongest person alive (second strongest if Sephiroth’s stubborn spirit could technically be considered ‘living’) but even he can’t rip through bonds of ancient energy.

Sephiroth snags him by the back of his sweater and tosses him all too easily across his lap. His arms are pinned underneath him, his face is practically in the dirt, and Sephiroth’s hand is an inexorable pressure between his shoulder blades — keeping him down.

Then Sephiroth’s _other_ hand begins moving, snaking underneath him, towards the front of his pants. Cloud realizes what is happening at the same exact moment that gloved fingers pull his zipper down.

Materia be damned, he is _not_ going to just sit back and let Sephiroth do whatever he wants.

He’s actually doing a pretty good job at keeping his pants up, thrashing desperately and wildly, until he feels a stinging blow against his rear. His mind blanks from either embarrassment or shock — he has no idea which. Maybe both. That was Sephiroth’s _hand._ Sephiroth has just smacked him on his rear as if he were some kind of bratty little kid throwing a tantrum.

Sephiroth’s hand strikes him again, firm and sharp, before he feels the man grab at the meat of his cheeks.

“Behave, Cloud,” he warns. He sounds far too pleased with himself.

Cloud regroups and begins to struggle even harder than before. He is not having this. Out of all the bullshit that’s ever happened to him, this is the most bullshit. This is not happening.

“Stop your squirming,” Sephiroth says. “Are you that impatient for me, Cloud?”

“Let me _go_!”

“Why? I have you right where I want you.”

“Fuck you,” Cloud bites out.

“That’s what I am _trying_ to do,” Sephiroth responds, sounding amused.

He freezes when he feels the smooth leather of Sephiroth’s glove on his bare skin as the other man begins working at the waist of his pants until they are pooled around his knees. It’s chilly outside. He can feel goosebumps break out on the backs of his thighs as a cool breeze caresses over the newly-exposed skin.

Sephiroth’s hands ghost over the curve of his ass, the swell of his thighs. The touches seem almost gentle, almost reverent. He isn’t sure how to feel about it. Cloud could handle menacing or forceful. He’d expected it, actually. Sephiroth feels no qualms about taking anything he thinks is his due. And he knows the bastard thinks anything that belongs to Cloud belongs to him de jure. This…faux-affection does not sit well with Cloud.

“Beautiful,” Sephiroth breathes out, so quiet that it does not feel like a taunt. So quiet that maybe Cloud wasn’t even meant to hear it.

Somehow that seems worse.

“Don’t,” Cloud says. “You can’t… say things like that.”

“I can’t?”

“No,” Cloud says, feeling very small and very stubborn in that moment.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want you to,” Cloud says. It’s true. He doesn’t want to hear sweet nothings that come from his nemesis’ lips. He doesn’t like how he is so desperate for this man’s approval, even after everything. Doesn’t like how hearing that voice praise _him_ causes heat to settle low and deep in his core. Awful, complicated feelings squirm around in his chest.

“But you are,” he says plainly, stroking Cloud’s thighs with barely-there touches before pulling Cloud’s pants completely off. Each brush of his glove against Cloud’s skin feels electric. “You’re a lovely sight, you know, sweet and pink. Soaking wet and stubbornly denying it.”

“I am not,” Cloud grits out. He is struck by the intense desire to hide himself away. Wishes desperately for his pants to be snugly on his ass again.

“You ought to see yourself,” he continues.

“Wha — wait —” Cloud’s protests are cut off as Sephiroth picks him up easily, swinging him off of the ground and manipulating him into the position he desires.

Spread across Sephiroth’s lap, his legs bracketing Sephiroth’s own, his back against the broad expanse of Sephiroth’s chest.The contrast between his own pale skin and the black leather stops his breath somewhere deep in his chest.

Whatever he is feeling at the sight is stopped dead when Sephiroth’s fingers dip between his legs, between those unfamiliar folds, and into that new slick and wet heat. It’s an odd feeling. That aching emptiness.

“Don’t — “ he tries.

“Shhh,” Sephiroth says, so gently, as he explores Cloud’s new — downstairs situation. “Why fight me?”

Everything feels hot, hypersensitive. It only gets worse when Sephiroth’s thumb brushes up against him — up against his _clit_ — and it feels like a jolt of electricity, so alarmingly _good_ that Cloud has to stop himself from squirming against the man to feel it again. Sephiroth’s smile is sharper than the edge of any blade as he begins circling that same spot over and over.

He was already traitorously slick, but he can feel the wetness begin to drip down the inside of his thighs under Sephiroth’s attentions.

Cloud has to bite back a pathetic noise when one finger dips lower, breaching him. He _knows_ that Sephiroth is larger than life, stands one head taller than him. But he isn’t prepared for how big that finger feels inside him. Another movement, and unexpected pleasure shudders up and down his spine.

He hopes, distantly, that Sephiroth won’t notice his reaction. He isn’t that lucky. Sephiroth works at him, curling his finger until that there’s a lovely bit of pressure at just the right spot. From the look in his eyes (his pupils dilated incredibly round) Sephiroth is all too amused with the way that Cloud’s breath hitches unwillingly in his chest, the way that he trembles with each new wave of pleasure.

Being worked from the inside and out, overwhelmed, a blissful gasp finally escapes him.

Of course, that’s when Sephiroth stops. Leaves him panting and aching for more. He hates it.

“You like this,” Sephiroth accuses as he withdraws his hand.

Cloud only shudders and avoids looking at the shine of his slick against the black leather of Sephiroth’s glove. Avoids thinking about how he can feel the thick line of Sephiroth’s erection, still trapped in the confines of his pants, pressing against him.

Cloud begins to fall apart as Sephiroth returns to rubbing delicious circles on his clit, pure striking pleasure concentrated between the crux of his legs. That first moan was like a dam breaking; now all sorts of noises, big and small, are ripped from Cloud’s throat at each sensation. He can’t help but squirm — searching for more delicious friction. He has never felt quite so warm or quite so empty, desperate to be filled.

Sephiroth lowers his head, nips at the shell of Cloud’s ear. His mouth is hot and the bite has too much teeth to it. It’s _almost_ pleasant. It still doesn’t distract him from the pain as Sephiroth slips fingers into him once more. Not just one this time. It must be at least two, maybe even three, that are working him open now. He can’t help but cry out. It’s too big, too sudden, too uncomfortable. Buthe feels full, too, the empty ache within him sated. And then the fingers search for that spot again, that little bit of flesh that makes stars light up behind his eyes. When Sephiroth presses against that spot, his cries turn into whimpers turn into moans. He is unrelenting. It’s too much, almost overwhelming, almost beautiful and almost terrifying.

And then, suddenly —

 _Nothing._ Cloud chokes back a keen of frustration as Sephiroth pulls his hand back once more.

He’s barely coherent enough to be pissed when Sephiroth half-heartedly wipes his glove clean against his rucked-up shirt. The slight is quickly forgotten when he feels something blunt and thick against his backside, then in between his lips. It presses up against his entrance. He can feel it twitching.

Oh. Sephiroth’s cock.

“Are you ready for me, my Cloud?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before lifting up Cloud’s thighs, positioning him above the head of his cock. He presses in, inexorable, at the same time that he begins sinking Cloud down onto him. It’s a slow stretch, but Sephiroth is big, much bigger than his three fingers, and it _burns,_ past the edge of painful.

The moan Cloud can’t bite back is pained, distressed. He’s too big. He feels completely and totally impaled. Cloud isn’t _meant_ to accommodate something this large. It won’t fit inside him. It can’t. It just _can’t._

Even as he’s thinking this, Sephiroth bottoms out. He can feel sharp hipbones underneath him, can feel Sephiroth’s chest brushing against his back with each inhale. Cloud just breathes through his nose. Tries to work through the discomfort.

“Look down,” Sephiroth says; his breath tickles at the shell of Cloud’s ear.

He looks down. His head swims at the sight: his legs spread, thighs shiny with slick, the length of Sephiroth’s cock buried impossibly deep inside of him.

For a moment, they are both still. Cloud tries to adjust to the feeling, but it’s all so new and so different and so incomprehensible. And then Sephiroth begins to move.

He uses his grip on either side of Cloud’s slim hips to pull him down, forcing him to meet each thrusts. Up and down, over and over again. Cloud lets his head fall back onto Sephiroth’s chest, unable to do much else with his hands bound.

As his body adjusts, pain begins turning into pleasure once more. Properly stretched now, he feels less like he’s being split in two and more like there is no empty space left between the two of them, like he is filled to the brim by Sephiroth,like a reunion. Each movement causes Sephiroth to drag over that sweet spot. Pleasure begins building up, low and hot in his core, as he is fucked relentlessly.

Cloud leans forward, arching his back with a long, low moan. His face must be flushed. His breath comes in desperate pants.

“Look at you, taking me so well,” Sephiroth half-purrs. “I want to see you.”

Cloud can’t help but shudder at the sound of his voice. Usually the bastard sounded entirely frigid, somehow both distant and elegant. That was gone. Now his voice sounded dark, deep, claiming.

Sephiroth pulls him off his cock smoothly, flipping him with his back on the ground in one quick motion before entering him once more, just as smooth. The sensations feel different in this position. Before, it had been intense, being supported entirely by Sephiroth’s grip and being penetrated as deep as possible. Now… now…Each thrust is shallower, rubbing over that spot inside him perfectly, the pace slower, the stretch delicious. With the sun-warmed ground underneath him, staring up at a bright blue sky through the curtain of silvery hair draping over him, completely and entirely enveloped by Sephiroth… The man grinds his hips against him and touches him skillfully and Cloud can’t think about anything else but this.

He’s lost in pure sensation for a long time, his brain detached, only feeling the tension gathering in his core and the warm fuzzy fog in his head.

His focus sharpens abruptly when, who knows how long later, Sephiroth lets out a quiet groan. It’s the first sound the man has made, aside from his harsh breathing and occasional murmur of quiet praise. Cloud’s eyes widen; he feels himself spasming around Sephiroth’s cock as the man rubs sweet, quick circles around Cloud’s clit. It’s so good, too much and yet not enough, he wants more and he jerks his hips up, tries to grind against the man’s leather gloves, desperately seeking more friction and heat and _touch_ —

He almost sobs as Sephiroth stops touching him _again,_ that cresting wave of pleasure falling short of orgasm once more. Tears form in his eyes with each pounding motion until they are threatening to run down his cheeks.

“Don’t cry, Cloud,” Sephiroth practically growls. “Use your words. Tell me what you need.”

He can’t, he _can’t,_ his tongue feels heavy and clumsy and the fog in his head is too thick for him to string words together.

“Beg for it,” he continues.

“I — I won’t beg,” Cloud manages to pant out.

“Then you won’t come,” Sephiroth responds simply, punctuating it with a hard thrust. Smug bastard.

The growing need in his gut is palpable, the air so thick he has to fight to breathe, the fog in his head so distracting that all he can think about is Sephiroth. Somewhere along the line, he had locked his ankles behind the man’s back, and now he finds himself pulling Sephiroth in deeper and deeper.

Each thrust rubs against that spot inside of him, that bundle of sensitive nerves Sephiroth had worked earlier with his fingers.

He holds out for as long as he can until the mounting pleasure is truly too much.

“Damn it, damn it, _please,”_ he finally keens, back arching. “Please touch me, _please_ —“

And so Sephiroth does, two fingers coming to rub Cloud’s flushed clit in quick perfect rhythm. His back arches harder as his legs shake with a nervous, tense energy. Every movement of those leather gloves against his core draws him tighter, closer.

It’s _different_ — but Gaia it’s _good,_ a crashing crescendo that has his toes curling and chest heaving. All he knows is Sephiroth’s hands between his legs and the feel of Sephiroth’s hipbones against his ass and the way that Sephiroth’s cock inside him feels so full. He comes with a hard sob, mind blissfully empty and legs like jelly.

* * *

As Cloud cries out underneath him, Sephiroth pushes spiky blonde hair up off his forehead, presses his lips against the skin there, lets himself taste the salt and musk of him. He presses kisses as if he can drill them into Cloud’s skull, into his essence until he knows how Sephiroth desires him. To have him bear his children _._ His _legacy_.

The image of Cloud with his belly stretched taut and full, growing a child of _Sephiroth’s_ inside him, gives him some kind of sour pleasure that seeps all the way into his bones.He can’t help but smile at the thought. With the way Cloud shudders underneath him, the expression must have looked alarming.

 _Family_ , some insidious bit of him whispers. _Your_ _family_.

He fucks into that tight heat again, harsher this time, savoring every feeling as Cloud’s walls flutter around him. It’s bitter and possessive. He selfishly lets himself taste the wet and shiny tears streaming from those pretty blue eyes; this is already a self-indulgent endeavor, so he may as well go all out. Cloud is his, to have and to hold and to take. Cloud’s children will be _his_ children. _Mine,_ he thinks, and that last thought is what pushes him over the edge.

He collapses his whole weight onto Cloud as he comes inside that wet heat, his thrusts stuttering to a stop. It is not gentle. He knows the man can take it, enhanced and stubborn as he is. Chest heaving hard, trying to catch his breath, Cloud shoves at him. It’s cute. Without any leverage, hands still bound together and crushed underneath him, his slight struggling is ineffective at best.

“Get up,” Cloud complains. “You’re heavy.”

“Mm… no.”

“What do you mean, no?!”

“I could keep you like this,” Sephiroth says instead, voice soft and full of wonder, as he runs his gloved hand up and down the skin of Cloud’s side so gently he can barely feel it. “Your legs spread. Bare. Helpless.”

He pulls out slowly even as he speaks. Cloud feels curiously empty now without Sephiroth filling him up.

But Cloud isn’t empty for long. One gloved finger dips between the crux of his legs, down to where Sephiroth’s cum is oozing slowly out of his hole. Sephiroth plays there for a moment, wiping up a fingerful and pressing it back inside.

“Thoroughly fucked,” Sephiroth adds, his eyes roving on Cloud’s exposed skin. His gaze rests momentarily on Cloud’s trembling thighs, between the spread of his legs at his dripping abused entrance, before moving onto the flat plane of his stomach, then up to his face. It feels, once again, claiming and oddly… intimate.

Cloud shivers.

“You’re _thoroughly fucked up_ ,” Cloud retorts weakly. “Get off me, asshole.”

He swears he sees the man’s face twitch in irritation. But, surprisingly, he complies. When Sephiroth finally pulls away, Cloud feels a wave of relief even as the sudden lack of his body heat leaves him feeling cold.

Sephiroth begins turning away. Cloud is trying to keep an eye on him — can’t trust the bastard farther than he can throw him, and he’s _heavy —_ but his attention is ripped away quickly when he notices the purple magic of the materia bindings begin to fade away. They grow weaker and fainter in color until Cloud is able to pull his wrists apart. Finally free.

Cautiously, he turns away from watching Sephiroth’s back and scrambles as stealthily as he can to where Tsurugi lays in the dust a few yards from them. Relief sings through him when his hand closes around her grip. He pulls himself to his feet, turning back to Sephiroth, pointing Tsurugi at — nothing.

The bastard’s not there.

Cloud stands pantsless and alone in the middle of the desert, pointing his sword at nothing. He’s suddenly grateful that there is no one there to see him. He feels as crazy as he looks. Off balance.

It feels suddenly like a nightmare. He could almost pretend it never happened. He isn’t sure which would be a better omen for his mental health: Sephiroth returning from the dead out of nowhere to get him pregnant or merely a vivid hallucination of the same. However, there is some small proof that this had really happened: his dick does not hang heavy between his legs and he can feel the cum seeping down his thighs from his new set of genitals.

Ugh. He wipes himself clean as best he can with the inside of his pants and redresses quickly; he pulls his shirt back down, tries to shake the sand and grit out of his hair.

He straddles his bike and begins the journey back to Edge, feeling conflicted, confused and sore.

* * *

“Cloud!” Tifa greets him, shooting up from her seat at the bar as he pushes the door open. “How was your delivery?”

“Fine.”

She pauses and takes in the sight of him. She obviously finds something she doesn’t like, because he can see the way that she softens, the way that she does when Marlene isn’t feeling well or Denzel gets in one of his teenage moods.

“Hey…you alright?” Tifa asks, concern plain on her face. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened,” he says, too flatly. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

She’s quiet for a long moment. “If you say so, Cloud. Are you hungry? There are leftovers in the fridge…”

“I could eat…”

“I’ll warm it up for you,” she says firmly. “Go get cleaned up. You look like you could use it.”

“Thanks, Teef,” he says quietly, his voice colored with fondness and relief as he begins climbing the stairs.

Catching sight of his reflection in the bathroom mirror makes him wince. No wonder Tifa was so worried. He looks like shit. There’s sand coating the skin of his shoulders, his hair is sticking up even more wildly than usual, and his eyes look — well, they don’t look happy and healthy. The vibrant rings of mako are swirling wildly but his expression remains dead-eyed.

 _Food and rest_ , Cloud thinks. _I’ll feel better after some food and rest._

He undresses with military efficiency, tossing the shirt and pants carelessly into a corner. He’ll deal with them later. He half-wants to burn the pants; he might burn the shirt, too. It’s not a huge loss. He doesn’t ever want to wear them again anyways, even if they _had been_ his favorite pants for long drives —

Whatever. He shoves the thoughts away. Doesn’t want to dwell on it any longer.

He showers briskly, trembling under the spray for only a moment before scrubbing at himself. He wants to get clean. He’ll feel better after he gets all the sand and spunk off him. The familiar scents of his shampoo and soap help ground him. The hot water rinses his aches down the drain.

When he steps out of the shower, with skin flushed pink and hair plastered to his head, his stomach drops.

His clothes lay in a neatly folded bundle next to the sink. A black feather rests next to the stack, bold against the white of the countertop.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise second chapter! Check end notes for new cws if you're concerned. 
> 
> A.K.A. “Sephiroth haunts Cloud like some kind of fucked up sex ghoul”

Life proceeds as normal.

He has trouble sleeping at night, sure — but that hadn’t been unusual for him even before. Normally he would take Fenrir out for a midnight spin, just to clear his head. But he doesn’t feel like going on the road anytime soon. So instead, stuck under the covers, Cloud stares at the ceiling above his bed for hours until dawn.

Mornings are normal too. Tifa makes breakfast while he brews the coffee. Denzel and Marlene start off half-asleep at the table but perk up until they’re at max volume and ready to take on the day.He can almost forget the whole thing happened if he focuses on the sweet mundanity of his daily life.

Cloud has had a lot of practice actively repressing all the horrible things that have ever happened to him. Actively _and_ subconsciously, come to think of it.

Except, of course, he’s still missing his cock.

It’s odd because in practicality, it doesn’t change his life at all — he wasn’t exactly getting any on the regular — but he still feels a sense of loss every time he is faced with its absence. Every time that he looks down and sees only a thick patch of blonde curls, his stomach sours. So… He tries not to look down. It’s not like anyone else even _knows_ what the trouble is, but it seems like they can sense it: there is something not right with Cloud.

Tifa doesn’t push him but he can see the way she watches him with careful scrutiny. The way that her brows furrow ever so slightly. The concern shining in her eyes.

“I’m always here if you need someone to talk to, Cloud,” she tries broaching once.

He doesn’t want to talk about it. Talking about it makes it real. Talking about it would mean dragging Tifa — and the kids — and everyone else he loves — into the Calamity’s path once more. So Cloud would rather be crazy; he would rather live in a world where he hallucinated the whole mess in some kind of latent remission into mako poisoning. He hasn’t seen a trace of Sephiroth since that encounter in the desert. He hasn’t noticed the man skulking about in the shadows of Seventh Heaven. He hasn’t even seen a single black feather fluttering at the edges of his vision. He’d like to keep it that way — he doesn’t want to inadvertently speak him into existence.

So he takes the coward’s way out, the way he always does if given the chance: denial.

“I know. Thanks, Teef, but I’m good.” And that shuts down _that_ conversation entirely.

* * *

He wakes up feeling surprisingly well rested. That’s unusual. It’s been a few days since he saw (hallucinated?) Sephiroth; it’s been longer since he last had a good night’s sleep. But the blankets are warm and heavy above him, the bed comfortable, warm sunlight streaming in through the opened window, his brain still foggy from a pleasant dream…

A very pleasant dream, actually. That’s even _more_ unusual. Usually his dreams are more like nightmares — or else they’re totally forgettable. But he remembers, in this dream, hands touching him gently and a warm mouth on his. Cloud realizes that his thighs are spread slightly, and there’s an unfamiliar dampness between them, and an ache low in his stomach.

He makes some sleepy, half-conscious grumble and wriggles slightly to shift into a different position. Presses his thighs closed and squirms at the feeling.

And then he feels something else entirely: the whisper of a breath against his skin.

Cloud’s eyes snap open. He turns his head, still half-bleary, and locks eyes with who else but his mortal nemesis in the flesh?

“Good morning, Cloud,” Sephiroth greets him, as if his elbows are not resting on either side of Cloud’s head, as if his head is not dipping down low to Cloud’s face, as if he is not caging Cloud’s sleepy, curled up body entirely with his own. Silver hair spills down either side of his arms, falling to pool on the sheets. “Sweet dreams, I suppose?”

Adrenaline rushes through Cloud even as he feels his face heat up. He wishes that he had never stopped keeping Tsurugi right at his bedside. Even if Denzel _had_ knocked it over once late at night, only nearly missing being impaled through the foot. It’s not like Cloud wouldn’t have been able to heal him.

“You — why are you here?” he demands. He can’t hear any other sounds of life in the house. No breathing, no footsteps… Tifa had a business meeting this morning, he remembers. But the kids… He tries to calm himself down.Tries not to panic. He can’t smell any blood. The kids must be out of the house, outside of his range of hearing, he tells himself. They’re okay.

 _He_ might not be in a few minutes, though, depending on how Sephiroth answers.

“Do you need me to explain again? It was quite simple —“

“Yeah, you want me to have your evil babies — _no_.”

“It’s obvious that you want this, Cloud.”

“I — I don’t,” Cloud denies.

Sephiroth doesn’t deign to respond to that with anything more than a single raised eyebrow before he’s moving, his head lowering even more to press against the fragile skin of Cloud’s throat. Cloud can feel him take a deep inhale there — breathing in the scent of him? He feels like he might be sick. But the mako in his veins won’t let him; he can’t remember the last time he actually vomited. His own breaths come much too shallow.

Instead he stays there, trembling, strung too tight with tension to move even as he feels Sephiroth lick a long stripe up his throat. Feels him linger at the tender spot of smooth skin behind his ear. It makes him tremble — from fear or from pleasure, he doesn’t know. He hates it.

When the man pulls back, with a dangerously and frustratingly smug look on that stupid perfect face, Cloud feels something inside him shatter as his body begins catching up. “Get off me,” he demands, moving to shove Sephiroth off of him.

Sephiroth catches his wrists easily in one hand and though Cloud struggles, his arms are pulled above his head in an inescapable grip. He can feel the bones grind against each other as Sephiroth holds him tighter and tighter.

“Behave,” Sephiroth warns, his voice cold, “or I will restrain you further.”

Cloud’s blood almost freezes in his veins, and he stills immediately, thinking of that odd materia Sephiroth had used before, those purple bonds of magic that had captured him previously. Attempting to escape from those would be a hopeless endeavor. Biding his time and escaping from Sephiroth’s grasp — implausible, but at least slightly more likely to occur.

“Good boy, Cloud,” Sephiroth breathes, as quiet as a whisper.

“Don’t call me that,” he snaps, equally quiet.

His wrists are squeezed again, hard enough to bruise, just for a moment — a warning. And then Sephiroth’s free hand comes to stroke at the exposed skin of his stomach, that small strip of skin between shirt and pants unwillingly bared. The touch is cool against his sleep-warmed skin. But that’s not enough; nothing really ever is for Sephiroth, Cloud is starting to realize. The man is built for conquest _._

Which is why his shirt is pushed up to expose the flat plane of his stomach and his nipples stiffening up in the cold air. With his hands held captive above his head and his chest bare, he feels completely exposed.

He is stiff and vulnerable at the same time as Sephiroth begins laying kisses thoroughly down his jaw, every inch down to Cloud’s throat. A pause to savor Cloud’s heartbeat at the thin skin of his pulse point.

Cloud bites back a gasp as the man begins to pay special attention to his nipples, playing with one with his hand while lavishing the other with his mouth.

It’s warm and soft and uncharacteristically tender.

It’s _infuriating_ — Cloud should be infuriated —

But it feels good, damn him. His body betrays him.The ache between his legs is only growing and his thighs are trembling with need instead of fear, now. A moan finally works free of him, low and trembling.

“There,” Sephiroth purrs. “Don’t hold back.”

“S-shut up,” is all Cloud says before pressing his lips together, stubborn.

But he can’t help the shudder that runs through him as Sephiroth scrapes his teeth over a pert nipple — it’s sensitive, and he doesn’t know if the jolt that runs down his spine to curl in his gut is pleasure or fear. A soothing kiss, venomously sweet, before Sephiroth continues by licking a long stripe down his abdomen.

And then Sephiroth is hooking two fingers underneath the waistband of his sweatpants, slipping them down slowly. He misses their warmth. He misses the way they hid him from Sephiroth’s gaze, because the man’s eyes light up in unholy satisfaction at the sight of Cloud, dripping wet because of him. For him.

Cloud presses his thighs together as tight as he can, but that doesn’t prevent Sephiroth from wedging a knee between them. Time seems to drag as he forces Cloud’s legs apart and slowly slides his knee, up and up, until his thigh is pressing against Cloud’s folds.

And that is the _worst,_ because Cloud’s body has already betrayed him, he’s already so turned on that it hurts, and now he has the warm, firm pressure from Sephiroth’s thigh pressed up right against him. His hips roll without his permission. He grinds his teeth and forces himself to stay still. But he desperately, desperately wants to rut there against his nemesis. He wants to chase down whatever friction he can against Sephiroth’s thigh.

From the way the other man smirks down at him, he knows it, too.

Sephiroth presses a little harder, and Cloud tries to wriggle away because it _is_ starting to hurt, might have cracked the pelvis of an unenhanced human, but the movement rubs his clit just right — the friction and the pressure and the sensation of buttery smooth leather combining into an explosion of pleasure. He can’t help it. He gasps, a tiny exhale of air, and then shifts against Sephiroth once more, chasing the feeling.

He grinds down once, twice, three times before Sephiroth pulls his leg away. The leather there is shiny. Cloud whines at the loss of it, pathetic.

“Hm?” Sephiroth asks, feigning innocence and ignorance. “Did you want something, Cloud?”

He avoids meeting Sephiroth’s gaze. He doesn’t want to look at the bastard propped up above him, smug and _knowing_. Doesn’t want to give him the pleasure of admitting what he wanted.

Sephiroth’s breath is hot against his neck before he starts sucking a bruise there. It’s wet and it’s _good;_ Cloud squirms again, and then stiffens when Sephiroth digs his teeth into him. But the pain is good too, blurring into pleasure. Sephiroth pauses, soothes the bite with his tongue, sweeping a languid kiss over it.

When he rises, it is to meet Cloud’s eyes as he settles between his thighs. Cloud can’t help but shiver, pinned under that intense gaze. He lays there, still and trembling, while Sephiroth pulls back and slowly unsheathes himself from his pants.

He didn’t get a good look at it before, but he had _felt_ it; it had felt fucking huge. Now that he can see it, it looks too long and too thick. He can’t imagine how it had fit the first time. Cloud spins with the conflicting emotions — fear and desire and anticipation all at the same time— as the blunt head of Sephiroth’s cock presses against his entrance.

Sephiroth breaches him slowly. It hurts but only briefly — that initial sharp jolt of pain transforms into a deep, delicious stretch as Sephiroth eases himself in. It feels like forever. Cloud doesn’t know whether to be grateful that Sephiroth is not just slamming in and causing undue pain or if he should be angry instead for the way it feels so good to be stretched around this cock again, angry that Sephiroth is making him savor his own defiling with each slow inch. Sephiroth bottoms out, his eyes half-lidded and heavy.

Cloud lets his head drop back onto the pillow. Shuts his eyes; he doesn’t want to see it.

And then Sephiroth pulls back out, another slow sweet drag that causes Cloud to bite back a moan at the sensation. “Always so stubborn,” Sephiroth says, sounding annoyingly indulgent even as he gradually presses into his slick heat again.

It’s unhurried, but not soft or gentle. It’s the perfect cure for the ache between his legs; each thrust drives deep until he can’t focus on anything else. All he can think of is Sephiroth, inside him, filling up all his empty spaces until there is nothing separating them. It feels good, damn it, and it feels right and it feels even _better_ when Sephiroth places his hands on either side of Cloud’s hips, tilting them up and the new angle has his cock dragging over that sensitive internal spot with each thrust.

“A-ah — Sephiroth —!” he cries out, embarrassingly loud and impossibly grateful that Tifa and the kids are gone.

The pleasure that has been building, low in his stomach, burns brighter and hotter with every movement. He feels his muscles draw tighter and tighter until his climax overtakes him, hard and unexpectedly, with his back arched and with his clit untouched. Thighs shaking, toes clenching at the sheets, breathlessly and blessedly wrecked.

How long have his arms been free? He has no idea when Sephiroth released his wrists and no idea how long he’s been free — but when his brain returns to him, all he knows is that he’s clutching onto Sephiroth’s broad shoulders, his fingertips desperately digging into the black leather of his coat.

Sephiroth is still fucking him steadily, did not _stop_ fucking him through his orgasm, and the man lets loose a deep growl of pleasure as Cloud’s walls flutter around him. He drives deep once more and groans right into Cloud’s ear before his rhythm falters into a staccato, and then he feels Sephiroth coming deep inside of him.

Sephiroth remains with his elbows on either side of him, perched just barely above Cloud’s face. He seems content to simply lay there, observing Cloud in the afterglow with a lazy, self-satisfied smile. It makes him look so punchable.

It should be gross, with their faces so close together and their breath mingling together like that, but Cloud can’t bring himself to be more than mildly irritated by it. He doesn’t have the energy. His body feels pleasantly sore and annoyingly flooded with endorphins. So he simply lays there in the quiet and tries to breathe at a reasonable pace.

The quiet breaks when he hears the bar’s front door creak open beneath them. He hears a footstep; it’s familiar. It’s Tifa.

 _Tifa_.

“Get off me,” Cloud hisses, struggling anew and pushing at Sephiroth’s shoulder, abruptly brought back to himself by the panic coursing through him at the thought of Tifa. He can’t get her caught up in this. Whatever _this_ is. “You’ve had your fun — now get out.”

“Worried I’ll hurt your little friend?” Sephiroth asks, raising a single silver eyebrow at him. “I haven’t killed her yet, have I?”

“It’s not — hah — that,” he insists, desperately trying to force the man off of him.

“Oh,” Sephiroth says, voice dark with some kind of realization. “You’re worried for _you._ How unexpectedly selfish of you, Cloud.”

Cloud shoves fruitlessly at him once more, wishing he could get any kind of leverage against the mountain of a man on top of him. But Sephiroth doesn’t budge. “I don’t know what you mean,” Cloud growls.

“You’re worried she’ll see you,” he says, low in Cloud’s ear, close enough that he can feel each breath. “You’re worried she’ll see you writhing under me, being touched by these hands and moaning at how good I feel.” He punctuates his mockery by canting his hips forward, just slightly. Those pretty blue eyes widen as the realization hits: Sephiroth is still hard inside him.

He pulls out and Cloud scrambles in attempt to escape. But he’s sore and pleasantly sated, slow to move, and Sephiroth catches him easily, flipping him over to his knees, grabbing his wrists and pulling them behind him like reins before sliding into him once more.

Cum drips out of Cloud with each thrust; he can feel it, warm and sticky, coating the inside of his thighs. He’ll have to wash these sheets to hide the stains. The rhythm is just as deep and as hard as before, but faster, less steady.

Sephiroth gathers both his wrists in one hand, and uses the other to begin forcing pleasure onto Cloud — rubbing sweet circles on his clit until he has to choke back a moan, not for his own pride this time but to keep his debauchery a secret. He can’t imagine letting Tifa hear him like this. But each touch of smooth leather sends an electric jolt to his core, it feels so good, his face must be flushed and his breath comes in hard pants.

“You love this,” Sephiroth growls out, his head dipping behind Cloud’s ear once more to nip at the sensitive skin there. “Admit it to yourself, even if not to me.”

“No —!” Cloud denies in a fierce whisper.

Sephiroth moves quickly. He’s tired of Cloud’s feigned resistance. So he presses his gloved fingers, with traces of Cloud’s slick and his cum, into Cloud’s open mouth, muffling his denial, his moans and cries as he fucks into him once more. His mouth is wedged open — it must ache painfully, Sephiroth thinks, and that thought spurs him on — and he couldn’t bite down if he tried and soon his chin is wet with drool. There’s something appealing there, though he doesn’t know quite what it is.

With his mouth forced open, Cloud can’t pretend to hold back those delightful little noises as Sephiroth thrusts into that tight wet heat. He hoards them, each whine and gasp proof of what Cloud denies to himself. He wants to remember every second — every time Cloud’s hips meet his thrusts, every time his back arches in strained passion. The way Cloud looks, stretched and pink around his cock. The sound of Cloud keening, high and needy and desperate around his fingers, is what has him hurtling towards the edge once more. From the way Cloud shudders underneath him, he follows shortly after.

He doesn’t have the presence of mind to be gentle or careful as he finally pulls out, cum spilling from Cloud’s well-used entrance. He takes his fingers out of Cloud’s mouth with a wet sound, lets Cloud’s arms fall loose from his grasp. The bruises wrapped around his wrists are already healing. It’s a shame; they suit him. And then he lets himself collapse on top of Cloud once more, breathing in the scent of their sweat mingling with the scent of sunshine and whatever detergent he uses for his sheets.

Cloud, trapped on his belly between Sephiroth and the mattress, squirms. Sephiroth huffs out a quiet laugh; it’s different from his usual laughs. Not haughty or smug, just simple (and seemingly good-natured) humor. He must be feeling the endorphins, too. Cloud isn’t sure he likes the sound.

And Sephiroth moves to get off the bed, moves to get off of _him_ finally, and Cloud scrambles to free himself and get ready to face the bastard. The second his hands are free, he’s off like a shot —

He hits the floor with a hollow thud. Misjudged the distance between himself and the edge of the bed. _Fuck_. At least it’s more embarrassing than painful.

“Graceful,” Sephiroth remarks blandly, an unimpressed look on his face even as he is tucking himself back into his pants and straightening out his coat.

It should be impossible to look so unruffled after two orgasms. His hair is hardly even out of place, still falling smooth and silvery around him. Meanwhile, Cloud’s shirt is still rucked up around his clavicle, his pajama pants tossed over on the other side of the room while cum drips out of him onto the floor, and he’s sure his own hair is more of a mess than usual. Cloud chalks it up to weird Jenova shit — that’s his default explanation when Sephiroth does something unexplainable.

“Shut up,” Cloud grumbles. “Graceful enough to kill you three times.”

“True. But not today.”

“Not unless you feel like hanging around while I go downstairs to get my sword,” Cloud offers.

“Mm, no,” Sephiroth says as he crosses the room to the open window. “Until next time, Cloud.”

Cloud sighs. “Didn’t think so. Bastard.”

He watches as Sephiroth slides with inhuman grace through the window and into the open air. It’s like as soon as Sephiroth drops below the view of the window frame, he disappears into the ether. Cloud does not see him fly off, but he can feel — somewhere in the back of his skull — that the man’s suffocating presence has disappeared.

Sprawled on the floor, Cloud scowls at the black feather lingering on his windowsill. Why is the asshole constantly molting? Cloud is tired of having feathers left behind as ominous portents. He hates the way it makes his heart seize when he sees _normal_ feathers, thank you very much.

Only a few seconds later, he hears the stairs and then the floorboards in the hall creak as Tifa hurries towards his room. _Tifa._ He forgot about her. She would have heard his crash-land onto the floor. _Fuck_. She pauses, stands outside his room for only a brief moment before he hears the doorknob start to turn.

“Stop! Don’t come in,” he calls out before she can open the door, panic coursing through his veins. “I’m — not decent.”

Which, he supposes, is the truth. So at least he’s not lying to her again.

The doorknob freezes as Tifa pauses again. “You’re — not decent? Cloud, I heard a thud. Are you okay?”

He clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” she says. He hears her let go of the doorknob, and then it sounds like maybe she’s gently leaning against the door. “What happened?”

He grimaces, even though he knows she can’t see it. “Knocked some stuff over. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be down soon, it’s just… I need to clean up first.”

“Okay,” she says. There’s some odd note in her voice that he can’t quite place. “I’ll be in the bar if you need me.”

“I know. Be down soon.”

She stands there in the quiet a little longer before leaving. Was she going to say something else? Press him on it? He hopes not. He has no idea what he’ll say if she wants to know _what_ made the thump and _why_ he’s not dressed. He certainly can’t say he misjudged his position on the bed after having oddly intense morning sex with _Sephiroth._

He had wanted her to leave. Wanted to recollect himself in peace. Still, he feels more alone than ever as he hears her descend the stairs. He pulls his shirt down and smoothes out the wrinkles automatically. Redresses feeling more like an automaton than a human; going through the motions. He doesn’t _sneak_ to the bathroom — he doesn’t have to, he knows there’s no one else on the whole level and he’ll hear if anyone approaches — but he feels like he’s sneaking regardless. Makes him feel like shit.

He showers. Under the spray of hot water, he rinses off the sweat and the cum and every single touch. But he can’t avoid avoid the truth any more. Sephiroth had been inside Seventh Heaven _again._ He hadn’t threatened Tifa — not directly — but Cloud wasn’t going to wait for that.

He’s tired of putting the people he loves in danger.

He’s going to deal with this himself. He’ll go off on a solo trip — since Sephiroth’s sole interest at the moment seems to be in _procreation_ with Cloud specifically. This time, he’ll be prepared. He won’t be caught by surprise when the bastard shows up again. He’ll just… kill Sephiroth, again,and then the entire ordeal will be over with.

It wasn’t the perfect plan — but good enough.

(In his head, he knew it was a stupid idea. He had only survived everything because of his friends, their teamwork, and their bond. Going off alone was a simple plan, not a great plan. But if they came with him, it was guaranteed they would learn of what he had done with Sephiroth. The rest of AVALANCHE already look at him oddly whenever the topic of his old adversary comes up. He doesn’t want to know how those expressions would change if they heard of these… encounters. Whatever they are.)

But he can’t just _leave._ The fear of Tifa’s disappointment keeps him from grabbing his emergency bag and disappearing into the wastes.

He’ll have to come up with a good excuse.

“I have a delivery,” is what Cloud finally says to her, mumbling it into his cup of coffee. He doesn’t want to meet Tifa’s eyes. He isn’t sure what he’ll find there. “It’ll take a while… I’m not sure how long exactly. I’ll head out later today.”

It isn’t the best excuse, but it’s passable. Cloud even thinks he’s done a decent job of dodging her questions about what he’s delivering, and where exactly.

* * *

Being on the road isn’t as relaxing as it used to be. He’s not able to appreciate the open road around him, the way the wind feels ruffling through his hair and the sights as they fly by him at top speeds. Instead, he focuses on scanning the horizon for a sudden shimmer of silver, an ominous black specter or two, any _hint_ of a feather fluttering around in a suspiciously placed breeze.

Cloud isn’t sure what he was expecting.

There’s no pull crying for reunion this time. Without that… he’s wandering around blind. Maybe he is crazy for doing this. Maybe he’s just dumb. But either way, now he’s camped out in an inn room, cross-legged on the floor, performing sword maintenance.

He doesn’t feel good. And not in the usual way — it’s not past trauma rearing its head, it’s not even the survivor’s guilt.

It’s saliva pooling heavy in his mouth. He pauses, for just a moment, and then the next thing he knows, he is sprinting for the bathroom while First Tsurugi lays abandoned on the floor. He barely makes it to the toilet, slamming to his knees in front of it before becoming sick. It burns his throat as it comes up and he can feel tears start to burn in his eyes and he remembers vaguely how his mother used to rub his back in slow, comforting circles when he had stomach bugs.

He hasn’t vomited since — he doesn’t know when the last time was. He hasn’t vomited for a long, long time. The mako took care of that. Cloud retches into the bowl once more, wishing that his throat was less raw and that his mouth was less acidic, before struggling to his feet.

Cloud staggers over to the sink, where he rinses his mouth clean with water straight from the tap. He splashes his face with cool water too, tries to wipe off any sick. And then, supporting himself heavily with the counter, he shuts his eyes, unwilling to meet his own gaze in the mirror.

A touch of cool leather at the back of his neck. Cloud’s back stiffens as the touch turns into a caress, the weight of Sephiroth’s hand settling heavy like a collar around his throat. He thinks that what dips underneath the neck of his sweater to stroke the skin there might be Sephiroth’s thumb.

Cloud keeps his eyes closed tight and focuses on each breath he takes through his nose. Tries to ignore the bile roiling in his stomach and the man’s hand on him and his heavy presence behind him. So close that they would be touching, back to chest, if Cloud moved at all. So he doesn’t. He stays hunched in front of the mirror and just tries to breathe, in and out.

Sephiroth hums, pleased. He feels the exhale tickle through his hair.

Cloud thinks Sephiroth is pleased with his lack of resistance, until the man breaks the silence with a Planet-shattering question.

“Morning sickness, Cloud?”

It hurts more than he thought it would.

“Fuck off,” he huffs. “I threw up _once_.”

Sephiroth’s other hand comes around to rest possessively on his abdomen. Cloud feels the man start to slip his hand under his sweater, rubbing the skin there in little circles.

“But you know I am right.”

“I know you’re an annoying bastard,” Cloud huffs.

“You always default to name-calling when you have nothing else to say,” Sephiroth points out.

“Shut up.”

“Certainly,” Sephiroth acquiesces. He sounds amused, damn him, _indulgent_.

The bastard must be ridiculously pleased with himself. Cloud hates him so much. But he’s off-center, off-balance. He can’t even bring himself to open his eyes right now, much less throttle the fucker who _impregnated_ him.

He doesn’t respond, just stands there, swaying slightly with sudden fatigue. He doesn’t even notice the way that his body sags into Sephiroth’s.

“How long can you hide this from them?” Sephiroth asks, the words whispered into his ear, low and poisonous. “Your friend is a smart woman… she’ll notice eventually. If not the morning sickness, surely when you start to show. What will she think when she sees you?”

Cloud swallows before steeling himself. He opens his eyes and looks down at his abdomen. It’s still flat, but Sephiroth is right. He’ll show eventually, and then there will be questions he does not want to answer.

“I could get rid of it,” Cloud offers. “And then all I’d have to do is kill you again. Problem solved.”

“You could,” Sephiroth says.“You won’t be rid of me that easily, however. I’ll always come back for you, Cloud.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. What _could_ he say to that? Sephiroth won’t listen to words, won’t stay dead no matter how many times Cloud is forced to put him down like a rabid dog, won’t even just leave him alone.

When Sephiroth steps away, Cloud suddenly has to support his own body weight again and his brain fuzzes out. He tries to ignore it the same way he tries to ignore the loss of the Sephiroth’s body heat. He’s not very successful at either.

This time, when Sephiroth leaves, he does not leave via the open window; instead, he sweeps through the door, leaving it open behind him as he descends into the inn. Watching Sephiroth use doors like a normal person is strange. It makes the whole thing seem surreal.

Cloud hesitates for only a moment before he’s following on unsteady feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for (mild) vomiting & mentions of pregnancy termination
> 
> Hey guys, thanks for reading! Hope y’all enjoyed.
> 
> I have a bit of the third (& potentially last) chapter written already… no promises on when that will be finished. Stay tuned??


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